


6. To Have Your Cake & Eat It Too

by WhatLocked



Series: 50 Reasons [6]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Baking., Brief mentions of rape (for a case), But if John were of sound mind he probably wouldn't have objected anyway., But not on purpose, For a case!, M/M, Multiple orgasms., Possibly non-con if you want to squeeze it that way., Sherlock is maybe a bit not good., Sherlock manages to drug John., again!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 07:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10355208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: John should really know that if Sherlock has prepared food, then there is probably a catch.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ali_loves_Usopp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ali_loves_Usopp/gifts).



> First up - Mega Sorry for taking forever to get back to this series, despite all of the great suggestions that have come in! The past couple of months have been mental!
> 
> Secondly - A huge thanks to Ali_loves_Usopp For making the following suggestion:  
> “John ingests something he shouldn't, and the side effects/consequences are unexpected”
> 
> This one got me thinking and several scenarios came to mind. Hopefully you all enjoy the final outcome.
> 
> And thirdly - As always, feel free to leave a suggestion of your own in the comments section and I promise to try and add it to the series sooner rather than later!!

~~~~~~~~~~

The case had only held a minor interest at first.  A girl, well known for crying rape when in fact she just become over promiscuous when too much alcohol was ingested, had once again accused a young man of drugging her and having sex with her.  It was the boys father who had come to Sherlock, begging him to prove her wrong.  

The girl, Danni something or other - had claimed that the boy, Thomas Brown…Black…whatever, had baked a new date-rape drug that had swept through Londons night clubs and college parties in the past three months, into a batch of cakes - which she had eaten, thus turning her into a mindless, horny, easily swayed body used solely for the purpose of Thomas’ sexual pleasure.  Thomas agreed that he had slept with the girl but he had most definitely not baked anything into any cakes and had been under the impression everything was completely consensual.  Well, as consensual as things could get between two completely inebriated twenty somethings.

Sherlock knew of the drug in question.  It had first been brought to his attention seven months ago.  Several of his homeless network had become victim to it.  

Officially it was called Teto/68/VN3.  On the streets it was called Complyance, named just so because those whoever took it were generally open to do whatever it was that they were told to do.  Add that on top of making them randier than a rabbit in the middle of breeding season and the consumer of said drug was generally fodder for any person (or persons) looking to get an easy leg over.  

The only problem was, was that the drug wasn’t very stable.  If changed too much, it became useless, leaving the victim seriously ill and not horny or compliant at all.  Submitting it to temperatures one would need to bake a cake would indeed be altering the structure as such, but on further investigation of a new sample of the drug, Sherlock had noted how the chemical structure had changed, just slightly since he had first seen it.

This naturally meant an experiment was needed, which was just fine, because Sherlock had been bored off his tits (Lestrades words, not his) for the past week, since John had decided that he needed to fill in extra shifts at work.  Something about owing them for all the time he took off or some utter twaddle.  Sherlock had stopped listening when he realised that John wasn’t going to give into his demands that he not take on extra shifts.  In fact, John had just laughed at Sherlock and then told him that if he ever tried to dictate how John was to live his life again, then he would find himself becoming very friendly with his right hand for the foreseeable future.  The grin John flashed him - that murderous one that said _don’t fuck with me_ \- and the dull glint in his eye made it quite clear that John was not lying.  He would indeed withhold sex for an undeterminable amount of time.  

And because John was so good at carrying out threats the kitchen was now a mess. There was an egg on the floor from where it had bounced out of Sherlocks hand when he cracked it too hard on the side of the bowl.  Apparently the sharp edge of a bowl was not enough to crack it, it had also needed the hard linoleum covered floor in order to break open.  A cup of milk had been knocked over and was currently dripping from the counter, in two seperate directions.  Into the sink and onto the floor, not far from where the egg was sitting, shell and all.  Flour covered a large portion of the surfaces in the kitchen and had managed to make it partway into the living room in the shape of footprints against the hardwood floor.  Then there was batter, all over the stove top, table top, back of the chair and, somehow, top of the fridge.  

Needless to say, Sherlock, too, was covered in ingredients including, but not limited to, flour in his hair, cake mixture up his arms and splattered on his top and raw egg smeared on his cheek.  Despite being a genius and actually knowing how to bake, it quickly lost its interest, despite being able to add drugs to the mixture and his lack of concentration, and ire over John going into work four days in a row, were the cause of the mess.  He looked around the kitchen and decided, if he were lucky enough, someone would come along and clean it for him, in the meantime, Sherlock needed a shower himself so pulling the freshly baked cakes out of the oven, he placed them on  a cooling rack next to the stove, turned the oven off and took himself to the bathroom to wash the flour and gunk out of his hair.  Who knew, maybe a long soak in the bath could be had as well since he had the house to himself for another few hours.  At least he wouldn’t be interrupted.

~o~

John let out a weary sigh as he climbed the stairs to his flat, dreading what he would find.  Greg had messaged him twice while he was at work stating that Sherlock was being _bored_ again.  It had been almost a week now, since the last case worthy of His Nibs’ attention had ended.  Tuesday, John had come home to find that eight arrows had been shot into the roof.  They were still there.  John had refused to remove them and Sherlocks response had just been to shrug and roll over on the couch.  Yesterday he had come home to some experiment with crickets and the varying frequency and volume of noise they made in relation to the temperature of their surroundings.   John hadn’t minded this experiment so much until he had tried to go to sleep last night and had instead spent an hour looking for the damn cricket that Sherlock had failed to mention had gotten loose and was apparently hiding out somewhere in their bedroom.  In the end he had placed the pillow over his head and tried his hardest to block the chirping out as he eventually drifted off to sleep.

Thankfully today had been so quiet at work, that Norman had sent him home early, stating that it was pointless having three doctors on when nothing was happening.  Since John wasn’t full time, he had been given the ‘ _Good afternoon, see you tomorrow_ ’ speech and to be honest, he had been glad.  Despite wanting to work more, he had also missed spending time with Sherlock.  Usually when he got home in the evenings, he was tired and Sherlock was grumpy so the time they had spent together had been minimal, strained and not overly intimate.  An early afternoon was just what he had needed.

At least, that was what he had thought right up until he stepped foot in the kitchen. 

“What the Jesus buggering fuck?” where the words that fell out of his mouth as his eyes took in the disaster before him.  Literally, it was a disaster.  There was god only knew what everywhere.  John would like to say it was flour, but who got flour on the light fixtures for crying out loud and what in gods name was dripping from the range-hood?

Judging by the noise coming from the bathroom the creator of this mess was in the shower, not that it mattered.  A sigh left Johns mouth as he realised that whatever this clusterfuck was, it was going to have to be him that cleaned it up because the mood that Sherlock had been in lately meant that he was not going to even think about cooperating if John asked him to clean it.  But first things first, John needed a cup of tea.  And maybe something to eat.  

It was as John was making his tea when he spied the cakes cooling on the rack.  First off he dismissed them.  Obviously a creation of Sherlocks boredom, quite possibly not fit for human consumption.  When John opened the fridge to get the milk out he was dismayed to see that the only edible thing in there was half a satsuma.  Maybe he could order in.  Adding the milk to his tea he eyed the cakes again.  Maybe it was a way of Sherlock apologising for being an epic twat lately.  After all, the chocolate and raspberry torte he had baked for Johns birthday, ( _It’s a once off John, I was bored and it happens to be your birthday.  Don’t expect it every year.),_ had been very edible and very delicious and had no ill side effects what so ever.  

Deciding that take out was still the better option he pulled his phone out of his pocket, only for his stomach to make noises of protest at the same time.  

“Fuck it” John thought.  It couldn’t be any worse than the Wednesday he apparently lost somewhere along the line.  Being the brave, hungry soldier that he was, John picked up one of the cupcakes and gave it a cautious sniff.  It smelt alright.  He then broke the tiniest bit off and popped it in his mouth.  It tasted fine.  Giving it a good once over and deciding if he wanted to risk it or not, Johns stomach gave another grumble and he made up his mind.  Not giving it another thought, John bit into the cake and decided that it was most definitely okay to eat, and if not, it was worth it.  The cake - apparently caramel flavoured - was delicious so he finished it in three more bites and then grabbed another one before taking himself and his cup of tea to the living room.  As he sat down he decided that ordering takeout could wait until Sherlock got out of the shower.  In the mean time, he was going to enjoy the other cake.  

~o~

Sherlock shut the tap off and stepped out of the tub, reaching for his towel to dry himself off.  He had decided to withhold the bath until John got home, hoping he could relax the good doctor enough and then, later on wear him out enough that he would be too buggered to go into work tomorrow.  It was as he was running the towel over his legs that he heard a noise coming from the bedroom.  Sherlock stopped rubbing his legs and listened as silence once again filled the room.  Until the noise came again.  It was a very familiar noise.  One he had heard often and quite often been the cause of.  The noise was one John Watson groaning in what Sherlock was pretty sure was pleasure.    This was odd for two reasons.  1:  John was meant to be at work for another three hours and 2:  John never masturbated if Sherlock were at hand (no pun intended) and not on a case, which was most definitely not the case (again, no pun intended).

Dropping the towel on the tiled floor, Sherlock crossed the small room and opened the door leading to his bedroom.  He didn’t even need to take a full step into the room to confirm that, yes, John was indeed home and was in fact pleasuring himself.  Quite enthusiastically, one might add.  

“Oh good, you're finished” John groaned as Sherlock stepped up to the bed, his hand not faltering its swift movement along his very erect penis, which was very surprising as judging by the mess on Johns stomach, he had not long ago orgasmed.

“You on the other hand are apparently not” Sherlock replied, dryly, trying to figure out what in the hell was going on.  

A chuckle passed Johns lips, deep and salacious and he finally stopped his hand.  “Not even close” he replied huskily, reaching out and grabbing Sherlocks wrist and yanking him down.  Sherlock had no choice but to follow or risk his arm being pulled out of the socket and with an _oomph_ he landed quite heavily on top of John.  Quickly, before Sherlock had a chance to react, John had wrapped a leg around his waist and was rutting up against him and had pulled Sherlocks bottom lip between his teeth.  

“John” Sherlock managed to get out above Johns sloppy attack on his mouth, and finally getting enough distance to pull away from John, even if it was just marginally.  “What exactly is going on here?”

John frowned up at him and went to reach for him once more, but Sherlock managed to manoeuvre his shoulders to the left, leaving John swing at vacant space. “I was hoping it was obvious” he grumbled and grabbed for Sherlock again, this time succeeding and pulling him back down, pulling and twisting until he had a naked Sherlock Holmes underneath him.

“John, not that I’m…uuh…that I’m compl…plaining” Sherlock sucked in a hiss of air through his teeth as Johns hand wrapped around his bollox and squeezed.  “Definitely not complaining” he breathed out as Johns hands started to gently knead them while he continued to thrust against Sherlocks hip.  “This is most unlike you, John” Sherlock panted, pushing his hips up, wanting more.

“Sherlock” John husked against his ear as his mouth worked the skin down and along his jaw.  “Shut the fuck up” and he then latched his mouth onto Sherlocks and forced his tongue past Sherlocks lips.

Sherlock moaned as at the same time John moved his hand to grasp Sherlocks erection.  That wonderful feeling of Johns marvellous hand and the sweet taste of caramel in Johns mouth was divine.  Sherlock tried pursuing the thought that the caramel flavour should be significant, but his mind was too busy being over ridden by the fact that Johns mouth was now moving south.  

It was while John was doing beautiful things to Sherlocks nipples, as Sherlock was writhing on the bed under him, when finally the reason that caramel was so significant finally stopped trying to infiltrate his thoughts and actually succeeded.  Suddenly, Sherlock stopped writhing as the words, ‘ _Oh, fuck, oh, buggery shit and crap on a cracker’_ (apparently some of Johns vocabulary was rubbing of on him, amongst other things) flashed through his mind and he remembered that the flavour of the cakes that he had made were in fact, caramel.

He was about to push John off of him, as clearly John was not completely in control of his actions and Sherlock was fairly certain that it would be more than a bit not good for him to take advantage of John this way, when the hand that had been very artfully stroking Sherlocks cock, dipped down and started rubbing against his perineum.  ‘ _Hunnnh_ ’ was Sherlocks reaction as he thought  ‘ _Maybe this is all a coincidence and John has just eaten something caramel flavoured on the way home from work and is just very excited to see me_.’  

“ _Oh, Sherlock.  What do we say about coincidence?_ ”

“Ugh, go away” Sherlock hissed, forcing his brother out of his head.  Of all the times for that pompous arse to visit his mind palace.  

“Fine” John responded, sounding very disappointed and rolled away from Sherlock, going to get off of the bed.  Quickly Sherlock reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Not you.  Mycroft” he informed John and instantly, John rolled back onto the bed.  This time, Sherlock did push him away, gently.  

“Would you like me to get rid of him?” John asked, clearly confused as to why Sherlock was no longer allowing John’s ministrations.

Sherlock shook his head.  “He’s not here John.”  John seemed happy with this information and went to move forward again.  A frown took over his face when Sherlock placed a hand on his shoulder to halt his movements.  “John.  Did you eat one of the cakes that were sitting next to the stove top?”

“They were rather tasty.  Did you make them?” he answered as his hand wrapped around his own length and he started to languidly stroke it, a small dopey smile coming over his face as if he were rehashing a rather fond memory.

“Hmmm, I did.  They were for a case.  Tell me.  How do you feel?”

John looked at Sherlock as if he had just asked John if he would don a feather boa and do the can-can.  “Sherlock, If you don’t know how I am feeling at the moment, then I’m losing my touch” he grinned and then tried to move back in, growling when Sherlock, once again, put a stop to it.

“Yes, I understand that you are feeling rather horny right now…” Sherlock threw a frown at John as John let out a giggle over the word horny, and then continued.  “…But what else are you experiencing.  I need to know, John.  It’s for a case.”

“Did you drug me again?”  Sherlock was sure John was supposed to sound indignant and he did, it was just rather done so in a comical sort of way with his eyebrows rising as high as his voice.

“No, John.  You drugged yourself.  Now, symptoms.”

John seemed to give a thoughtful nod at this and then, still stroking his cock, casually answered Sherlocks questions.  “At first I was hungry and then very, very happy and then - god - I just wanted sex.  So much sex.  I was going to join you in the shower, but it was too far away and I figured you’d come to me sooner or later.”  John stopped there and threw a cheeky smile towards Sherlock.  “Although, I’d much rather if you’d come i _n_ me” and with that, faster than Sherlock had expected, John moved in again, this time straddling Sherlocks hips and leaning so his hands rested on the bed head behind Sherlock, caging him in.  

Sherlock tried to stop John, once more, but as he went to push on his shoulders, John rolled his hips and a wave of pure lust rolled from Sherlocks groin, all the way up his spine and crashed into his brain, bringing all thoughts of stopping to a complete halt.  

Maybe it would be a good idea just to let John get it out of his system.  It’s not like it was going to be anything they hadn’t done before.  

“That…that could be arranged” Sherlock stuttered and John grinned wider.  

“I took the liberty of readying myself while you were in the shower” John whispered in his ear and reached down to give Sherlock a few experimental tugs, bringing him to full hardness as Sherlocks hand made its way to Johns backside.  I brief grope and Sherlock realised that John had indeed done more than just wank while Sherlock had been in the shower.  

“Lubrication” Sherlock muttered, trying to regain some sense of responsibility which wasn’t as easy as one might think, unless one had had the experience of Johns Watson’s hands upon their body.

“Not necessary” John uttered back and then, before Sherlock could protest, John rose up and then sunk down onto Sherlocks cock, sliding all the way down in one go. 

“ _Jesus….John_ ” Sherlock shouted and a loud groan was pulled from John.  He was going to feel that when he sobered up.  Sherlock didn’t get time to savour the surprise of having John fully seated in such a short amount of time for as soon as the groan left his mouth the smaller man started riding Sherlock in earnest.  He moved with such a frenzy that Sherlock was having trouble keeping up.  

Johns hands moved from the bed head to grip Sherlocks shoulders, tight enough that he was sure his fingers were going to leave bruises, and he moved up and down, not wasting anytime for his usually much loved foreplay.  The sounds that were being pulled from him were desperate and animalistic.  John had always been a passionate and enthusiastic lover, but this was something different all together.  All Sherlock could do was hold on tight and enjoy the ride.  

And enjoy the ride he did.  The minimal preparation made for a tight fit.  Added to the fact that there really wan’t a lot of lube used initially and the friction was rougher than usual, but not unpleasantly so.  Johns speed, and the way he kept clenching his muscles around Sherlocks length was like a gift from heaven and the sounds he made and the way he smelt all added to the overall experience of a feral, horny and completely sexually uncurbed John Watson.  Sherlock leant forward and ran his tongue along Johns neck, nipping at his jaw.  John moaned at the sensation and tipped his head back, clearly wanting more.  

“God, Sherlock, touch me” he pleaded, taking a hand off of Sherlocks shoulder to rub over his chest.  Sherlock watched as he pinched at one of his nipples, pulling on the hard little nub and as another desperate cry left Johns mouth, Sherlock reached down and wrapped his hand around Johns erection.

“ _God, yes, Sherlock_ ” he cried out, rather loudly, apparently not caring about Mrs Hudson hearing.  Sherlock made a vague mental note about the drug lowering ones inhibitions and started to stroke, trying to keep in time with John’s thrusting, but the man was moving at a punishing speed.  

Sherlock felt that familiar ball coiling low in his abdomen, the one that only John could invoke, the one that said this was going to be a mind-blowing orgasm.  It didn’t happen every time they had sex and somewhere in the back of his head there was a little voice telling him that it was bad form to be getting so turned on by Johns reaction to having unknowingly been dosed up on aphrodisiacs, but that was the voice Sherlock had a tendency to ignore and instead went with whatever it was the voice was berating him for.  This time round it was for chasing what was going to be a fantastic orgasm which was quickly building up momentum as the ball in his gut got tighter and more intense.  

It was just then, as Sherlock let his head tip back and his grip on John tighten, that a small keen left Johns mouth and his hips started to falter.  His thrusts became uncoordinated and the hold he had on Sherlocks left shoulder tightened.  

“Sher…” he huffed and tightened his arse muscles.  It was this that finally pushed Sherlock into sweet oblivion as with one final thrust up that ball coiled so tight it snapped and wave after wave of pleasure pulsed though Sherlocks body, sending a cry out of his mouth as he shot his load into John, the hold on his hips falling away as his hands scratched down Johns thighs, his eyes clenching shut as he tried to not black out from the rush of prolactin, oxytocin, serotonin and endorphins flooding his system.  

Too busy enjoying his own orgasm, Sherlock was completely unaware that John, too, had come and it wasn’t until he opened his eyes and took stock of his surroundings that he realised that John had stopped moving and was leaning with his head against Sherlocks shoulder, panting hot, damp breath against his sweat slicked skin.  When he glanced down it was to see a much smaller mess against his stomach, than what had been (and was partially still) on Johns stomach from his earlier activities.  It was also to see that John, despite coming twice in under an hour, was still half hard.  

After the two of them had steadied their breathing Sherlock eased John off of his lap, glad to see that he wasn’t still desperately trying to paw at him and arranged them both so they were lying down.   John instantly latched onto Sherlock, throwing an arm over his chest and a leg over the tops of his thighs as he nestled in close, a subtle reminder that he still wasn’t exactly finished just yet as his semi-hard penis nudged the side of Sherlocks hip.

“John, How many cakes did you have?” Sherlock asked, curious as to the strength of the dosage that he had added, which admittedly was quite possibly more than what was in the original cakes.  

“One” John replied, almost sounding sleepy.  Or maybe just very happy.  The drug had seemed to give him somewhat of a _devil-may-care_ attitude.  Sherlock let out a sigh as he gently rubbed Johns spine, hoping to relax him somewhat.  One wasn’t so bad, especially since he wasn’t sure of the overall effects of the drugged cakes.

“Good, that’s not…bad” he said.

“And then three more” John added as an after thought.

“Fu… _Three_ …Why did you eat so many?” Sherlock spluttered suddenly trying to divide the dosage of the drug into 12, as that was how many cakes he had baked, and adding that to Johns body weight and his only mediocre tolerance to drugs.  Plus John wasn’t exactly a young man anymore.  The effects of the drug on top of too much sex in such a short amount of time and Sherlock was seriously becoming concerned about a heart attack, but John didn’t seem fazed at all as he continued to chatter away in that very contented tone he had adopted.

“They were so good.  And then I was so hungry and they were there and I didn’t want the satsuma.  I don’t even like satsumas.  Why do we have satsumas?  We should have more cake.  Would you like some cake?  Or we could get Indian, I could really go Indian right now.  God, I am so hungry.”

“John” Sherlock said, stopping Johns what had now become ramblings.

“Yes?” he asked sincerely.

“Stop talking and go to sleep.”

“Okay.”  The response was somewhat disheartened as if John were expecting something else, other than sleep.  ‘ _This is a turn around_ ’ Sherlock thought as he tried to pull John in close, hoping the other man would find his embrace soothing.

“You’ll feel better after sleep” Sherlock told him and he felt a small nod against his shoulder.

“Okay” John responded and fell silent.  

The silence lasted only as long as Sherlock felt the need to question Johns actions, which currently involved his hand rubbing over Sherlocks very flaccid penis.

“John, what are you doing?”  he asked, knowing full well what he was doing and hoping to dissuade it somehow as Sherlock was clearly not up for another round.  Not even his refractory period was that good.

“You’re the genius, figure it out” came Johns smug reply and the pressure of his hand increased somewhat, causing Sherlock to wince.

“John, Your actions are pointless.  I orgasmed ten minutes ago” Sherlock informed John, gently removing his hand away from his genitals.

“So did I” John replied and instead of stopping, started rutting slowly against Sherlocks hip.

“Yes, but you have a very strong aphrodisiac coursing through your system, amongst several other drugs.  You really should try to sleep it off.”  Sherlocks words fell sort of flat as he felt John getting harder against his hip.  He really should put a stop to this right now.  John was going to be very sore when the drugs finally wore off.

“Just one more?” John pleaded and looked up at Sherlock, his eyes wide, bottom lip caught between his teeth.  Sherlock was going to say no, he really was, but the way Johns eyes dropped to Sherlocks mouth, followed by another roll of his hips, wavered his resolve somewhat.  It was when John looked back up and him and, in a deep but quiet moan, said “Please” that Sherlock decided that if he didn’t help John, then John would only get himself off, so pushing John onto his back, Sherlock settled himself between Johns thighs and with a put upon sigh said  “Fine, but then you’re going to sleep.”

“Yes Sherlock” John answered, sounding very pleased with himself, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his mouth.  It wasn’t long before Sherlock had that smirk wiped off his face completely.

~o~

 

John felt his brow dip as his brain sluggishly regained some form of consciousness and, pushing the throbbing headache aside, he decided to instead of opening his eyes, try to figure out what had decided to crawl in his mouth and take up residence - whatever it was, it tasted like it may possibly have died while it was in there.  

Had he thought the headache and the furry, disgusting mouth were bad enough, they had nothing on the way his muscles groaned and protested as he rolled from his back to his side.  Muscles he hadn’t used in some time.  Muscles he didn’t knew even existed.  All of it ached, from his toes to his ears.  He was certain that even his eyelids were protesting.  And he was buck naked.

Apparently, sometime between leaving work earlier today - yesterday?  (He had no idea what time it was) John had died and gone to hell.  (He knew he should have returned that movie he had borrowed under Toby’s name, back in uni.  Kristy Swanson was definitely hot, but Luke Perry just wasn’t worth this fresh brand of pain.)  And what the fuck had actually happened.  He remembered leaving work and arriving at the flat.  That was it.  Everything after then was a complete wipeout.

Finally, deciding that lying there and trying desperately not to cry, just a bit, John finally cracked open an eyelid, just half way and was pleased to find the room in total darkness.  He was certain that any amount of light would have turned the throbbing pain in his head into searing hot pokers, trying to force their way out from behind his eyeballs.  A quick glance at the clock on the side table revealed that it was 7:43pm.  Where had the past five and a half hours gone?

John contemplated lying there in the dark, waiting for death to finally claim him, when he heard a familiar noise coming from beyond the bedroom door.  It was the sound of Sherlock dropping a slide on the table.  Maybe the mad man in the kitchen could shed some light on Johns current state of being.  Wincing at the new pain that flared up from his backside as he sat up John decided that there was no maybe about it.  Sherlock was definitely behind his current misery and definitely had some explaining to do.  

Gingerly, John stood up and carefully navigated his way, through the dark, to the bathroom, where he braced himself and then flicked on the light.  He was right.  The pain flared in his head, making him groan pitifully while clenching his eyes shut, until it slowly petered away, back to a dull thumping and he slowly peeled his eyes opened and staggered to the toilet.

Fuck, what in the fuck had they done?  Stupid question, clearly they had had sex at some stage.  Judging by the mess that hadn’t been cleaned up properly and the bruises that were on his hips, he would guess it had been very enthusiastic sex.  So that raised the question, why the fuck didn’t he remember it?  And why was Sherlock not with him, feeling just as shite?

Further inspection at the toilet highlighted just how vigorous the sex had been.  Johns penis wasn’t actually supposed to be red and it most certainly was not supposed to be a bit tender to touch.  How much sex had they had in order for him to get chaffing, on his penis?  At least someone had attempted to clean him up, he supposed, chalking up the fact that there was only small streaks of dried come on his stomach and thighs, as a good thing.  

Finishing up in the bathroom, John made his way out, carefully sliding into his dressing gown that had been hanging up on the back of the bathroom door as he made his way, one foot shuffling in front of the other, to the kitchen.

Nothing was said as John made his way over to the kettle, but there was a glass of water and two paracetamol waiting for him in front of the sugar bowl.  Thankfully, he picked the glass and the tablets up and downed them in two gulps.  

“Don’t suppose you want to tell me why I feel like dying?” John asked, slumping down in the kitchen chair across from where Sherlock was indeed looking at what appeared to be cake crumbs under the microscope.  

“What exactly do you remember?” Sherlock asked, not looking up from what he was doing.

John slumped forward and rested his cheek on the table top.  He closed his eyes as the cool wood soothed his aching face.  “Work” John mumbled.  “I left work early.”

There was silence, but John knew it wouldn’t last.  Sherlock was just trying to find kind words to tell John that his situation was terminal, as there was clearly no coming back from this.

“You ingested a drug called Complyance” Sherlock finally offered.  This meant nothing to John so he stayed silent.  Talking hurt any way.  “It’s the latest date rape drug going around at the moment.  It lowers the inhibitions of whoever takes it and makes them more inclined to be open to any form of suggestion with very minimal inclination to disobey any suggestion offered.”

John attempted a nod against the table but it sort of came off as a minor twitch.

“Plus it puts one rather in the mood for sex.”

“That explains a lot” John mumbled.  “And why did I need to be the test subject?”

“Because” Sherlock started slowly ad John knew he wasn’t going to like the answer.  “You apparently felt the need to eat four cakes that I had baked the drug into, which were not actually meant for you.  They were meant for a bunch of uni kids, not unaccustomed to drug fuelled group sex amongst other kinks, who I had paid to try them out.  They were going to record the results and get back to me.”

“Then why did _I_ eat them?” John complained half heartedly.  God he was tired. 

A sharp inhale could be heard from the other side of the table and a soft scraping that indicated that Sherlock had pushed his microscope away.  “That yet remains to be answered” Sherlock finally replied.  “Not quite sure why you, of all people, thought it would be safe to eat something that I had baked.  You get suspicious when I make you a cup of tea.”

“And for good reason too” John answered, rolling his face on the table so his other cheek was against the wood.  As he did so, flickers of images flitted through his head.  Just small snippets of cakes and flour.

“You really don’t remember anything?”

“The kitchen was a mess” John grumbled and then rolled his eyes up and around.  From what limited view that action gave him he could see that there wasn’t as much…everything coating every surface as what there had been the last time he was in the room.

“I’ve had a few hours to clean it up.”

"You paid someone to do it for you."

"Same thing."

Silence sat between them while John filtered what he had learnt.  “How much did I have?” he finally asked.  It must have been _a lot_ for him to feel this shit.

“Enough to dose three and a half fully grown men to be effective for three hours” Sherlock rattled off as a matter of factly.

“Well, that explains the chaffed willy” he responded.  More silence.

John finally sat up and leant back against the chair and looked at Sherlock.

“You were very…enthusiastic” the man across from him supplied and John could see that he was forcing back a smile.

"And you didn’t try to stop me, at all?” John knew he should be put out by the fact that all of this had happened, but to be honest, he wasn’t surprised.  He certainly hadn’t expected it and he really didn’t have anyone to blame but himself (after all, he knew Sherlock had baked the cakes and he still ate them) but he really wasn’t at all surprised.

“You were very persuasive.”  And there it was.  The grin that had been trying to get out before.

“And I’m sure you needed oh so much persuading” John retorted, the beginnings of his own grin twitching at the corners of his mouth.  

“I did try to stop you, or at least slow you down, but after your fourth orgasm I gave up.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say _fourth_ orgasm?”  Jesus, he hadn’t been that impressive since his 20s. 

“You were coming dry by that stage.  The fifth one was apparently painful, but thankfully you stopped after that.”

At the revelation of his fifth orgasm, John choked on a bit of saliva he had been swallowing.  No wonder he was so sore.

“It was quite the overdose” Sherlock offered, somehow sounding proud.  “I stayed close, just in case your heart failed, which obviously, it didn’t.  I was quite impressed.”

“Ta” John mumbled and was about to inquire more about his apparent impressive sexual prowess, when the doorbell rang.   
“Ah, that’ll be dinner” Sherlock announced, standing up and heading out the door.  Not even a minute later and he was bounding back into the kitchen, two bags in his hand and the smell of curry, coconut and mint wafting in after him.

“God that smells good” John groaned as his stomach gave a rather loud rumbled.  

“Yes, you made a few references to wanting food, Indian in particular.  According to you, the drug also gives you the mega munchies, so, when I heard you moving around I placed an order.”

As Sherlock walked past John to get plates, John snagged his wrist and brought it up to his lips.  “Thank you” he murmured, placing a light kiss on the inside of Sherlocks wrist.  Sherlock just angled his hand around so he could give Johns hand a squeeze and then continued getting dinner served.

~o~

Sherlock hadn’t been tired, despite his earlier activities with John but John had wanted to go back to bed and sleep off the remainder of the drugs in his system, so, once Joel had come to collect the remainder of the cakes (another set of results could come in handy) Sherlock had followed John to bed and climbed in under the blankets as well.  At first it had seemed that John was surprised, but it took mere moments for him to shuffle over to Sherlock and mould himself to Sherlocks side, resting his head on his shoulder.  

The room had been silent for almost eight minutes when the chirping started.  It was soft and sort of soothing and was analogousto the results Sherlock had determined in relation to volume and duration between chirps of the cricket and the temperature of the room.  He made a mental note to add these findings to his other results.  He was just thinking that he might actually fall asleep to the noise when John spoke.

“Sherlock, you know all of that sex we had earlier.”

“It’s a bit hard to forget, John” he answered, stifling a yawn.

“I’m glad to hear it” John answered, sleepily against Sherlocks chest.  “Because you are not having sex again as long as that fucking cricket is in the flat.”

**Author's Note:**

> *I have no idea how drugs work - I barely passed chemistry (and I’m pretty sure that was fluked!) - I don’t know if they can be altered as mentioned in this story, but for the sake of fiction, now they can!
> 
> **I moved into a house a few years back and there were crickets, apparently living inside the house. I wasn’t aware of this fact until I went to bed that first night. It took over four weeks to hunt them all down. 
> 
> ***The movie that John didn’t return to the video store was Buffy the Vampire Slayer, just in case you were wondering.


End file.
